


Digital Animal

by pennysparkle



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparkle/pseuds/pennysparkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are changes, Miles finds, that come with being a ghostlike mist of technology swarming around the core of a human body. There's the good changes (he greatly enjoys fucking over everybody who fucked him over throughout this whole ordeal; the lack of pain is also a plus, as is the dizzying super strength), but the thing is that there's downsides too - the extreme murderous impulses, for instance, and the haughty frustration that seems to come from actually ascending to something resembling godhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digital Animal

**Author's Note:**

> [5/23/2014 3:22:20 AM] Jack: eddie dicking miles so hard he temporarily isnt possessed by the walrider  
> [5/23/2014 3:22:28 AM] Mochi Neko: o H m an  
> [5/23/2014 3:22:33 AM] kristina: LMFAO ok  
> [5/23/2014 3:22:35 AM] Jack: eddies dick causes an exorcism  
> [5/23/2014 3:22:37 AM] Jack: beautiful

There are changes, Miles finds, that come with being a ghostlike mist of technology swarming around the core of a human body. There’s the good changes (he greatly enjoys fucking over everybody who fucked _him_ over throughout this whole ordeal; the lack of pain is also a plus, as is the dizzying super strength), but the thing is that there’s downsides too - the extreme murderous impulses, for instance, and the haughty frustration that seems to come from actually ascending to something resembling godhood.

Everyone just seems... _lesser_ now. Removed from his terror, he feels very bored, and while he gets a kick out of killing every now and then, it doesn’t last for very long.

Still, the floating around in a shapeless mass is kind of fun, as is observing how completely gone to shit the place is. There’s not a whole lot left that’s alive, and he isn’t expecting much when he wanders along the dusty hallways of the vocational block, curious about what kind of hell it is in comparison to the rest of the building, especially after hearing the man upstairs muttering about Grooms and making brides out of men.

He spends his time watching this _Groom_ chase down his prey, following him from room to room. The personal graveyard of hanging bodies is somewhat interesting, and the rather overblown ‘birthing’ display, and to stumble upon something down here, something living, breathing, hostile rather than terrified... It’s enough to entertain him for a while.

Still, it gets old quicker than he desires, and Miles decides it’s time to take on a new tactic as the Groom polishes the blood away from his makeshift knife. He settles himself on the bloodstained makeshift surgery table and lets the swarm dissipate a little until he’s visible beyond the odd greenish-tinted haze, then clears his throat.

The Groom turns slowly, pleasantly twisted smile coming to his face in increments. “Another bride-to-be delivering herself to me,” he chuckles, twirling the sharp scrap of metal between his fingers.

“Hello,” says Miles, and he’s still so unused to the way his voice comes out, strangely digitized now. “I heard you were holding tryouts for a wife. I thought I might try my luck.”

“Darling,” murmurs the Groom, advancing on him. He seems to ignore Miles’ sarcastic tone, stuck in his own little world where everything is just as he likes, if only for the time being. “You’re so good already. Such a good bride, giving yourself to me...” He puts the jagged metal down on the table and lifts his hands, trying to place them on Miles’ face, but they just slide right through him.

“Well,” Miles says. “That’s a problem.”

“Darling, you...” the Groom begins, confused.

Miles smirks, leaning back on his palms. He can feel the saw against the odd area of consciousness around him, and with a little more concentration, he drops the nanofield to the point that he can feel its teeth pressing solidly into his back. “It’s alright. Go on.”

The Groom doesn’t move, so Miles reaches out and takes one of his rough, glove-covered hands, guiding it to rest on his cheek. “I said, go on.”

There’s the firm brush of a thumb across Miles’ cheek first, then a harsh press to his lips. He parts them, lets the Groom slick his thumb on the wetness of the inside of Miles’ lip, tastes blood underneath salt.

The touch lingers there for only a moment, then withdraws. Miles watches the Groom tug his glove off and lets his mouth be roughly opened again by two fingers when he comes back. He doesn’t waste any time testing the softness of Miles’ mouth, just presses his fingers deep enough that Miles should choke, and that’s interesting - he supposes ghosts don’t really have any purpose for gagging. You learn a new thing every day, even when you’re kind of dead.

The Groom breathes in deep as Miles curls his tongue, lapping at the pads of his fingers and the soft creases of his knuckles, soothing away the taint of blood until Miles really can’t taste much of anything.

“Filthy,” the Groom mutters under his breath, pulling his fingers back before pressing them in again, a bizarre caricature of more intimate acts. “Absolutely _filthy_ , but I can make you better.”

It flows through one ear and out the other as Miles nibbles lightly at the fingers that draw away once more, retreating so that the Groom can tug his trousers open.

He’s got the kind of cock that might have been too much for Miles before, but he supposes it won’t really be a problem at this point. It’s thick and heavy on his tongue when he ducks down, the Groom’s hand around the base of his skull as Miles licks at it first, then takes it in, filling his mouth up.

“Oh, darling,” the Groom sighs, fingers wrapping through Miles’ hair. “This is certainly... forward.” But all the same, he wraps a hand around the back of Miles’ skull, guides his cock into the heat of his mouth, and Miles is taking it just right, letting him press in deep to the back of his throat until it should hurt.

Saliva pools in his mouth as he sucks, cheeks hollowing, throat constricted, and the Groom groans above him, his fingers jerking in Miles’ hair. Then he’s shoving Miles even further, until his nose is pressed to the dark, coarse patch of his pubic hair. Miles can barely breathe for the way his cock fills his throat, and the Groom is yanking at Miles’ hair as his other hand comes up to wrap around his neck, squeezing firmly. Miles wants to cough despite having no real physical need to, wants to pull back, but the Groom just squeezes tighter, his hand clutching the thick bulge his own cock is making.

Miles tilts his eyes up, curious, watches the Groom’s chest rise and fall sharply with quick, hard breaths. His lips are slightly parted, eyes half-lidded so that only a thin ring of electric blue and bloody red peeks out - a look of supreme, distracted pleasure.

It’s a little bit annoying, so Miles pulls back, forcing through the grip the Groom has on him. There’s an obscene, wet noise as his cock bounces free, brushing Miles’ cheek and smearing it with saliva and precome.

“What are you doing?” the Groom asks warningly.

“Calm down,” Miles says. He finds himself a little at a loss when it comes to how he’s supposed to get out of his clothes, but it turns out to be just as easy as dispersing the nanofield. “I just think it’s time for us to take things a little further.”

At the bare sight of him, the Groom snarls and narrows his eyes, his hand twitching back toward his makeshift knife.

“If you try to cut it off, I’m not going to be pleased,” Miles says. To punctuate this statement, he pulls the swarm in, forming a thin, sinuous green-black length of razor wire ready to tighten down on the Groom’s cock at a moment’s notice. It’s not like the Groom would actually be able to do anything to Miles’ body, but two could play at that game of threats.

“Besides, I can still be your bride,” Miles promises. “Just a different kind. You want someone different, don’t you? Someone who will be true to you? That’s all I’m doing, all I _want_ to do.”

The Groom considers this for several long moments, time enough for Miles to start planning his getaway. He shuffles closer to the edge of the table, but then one of those large hands reaches out, fingers crooking under one of Miles’ knees and pushing it back. Miles smirks, satisfied, and arches at the rough press of two fingers into his hole, wet only with the Groom’s spit.

“You open so well for me,” the Groom sighs. “Like you were made just for me, darling, weren’t you? Just for me, not like those other whores.”

Miles says nothing. He has a boyfriend waiting for him back at home, but... well, Miles has the whole murdering gig now, and anyway, he’s an immortal god, so being tied down just seems a bit unappealing from this angle.

The Groom doesn’t seem to notice his lack of a reply, just crooks his fingers with little care for how Miles reacts to it. He adds a third, the burn of it distant and ignorable like it’s never really been before, and then he pulls free, pushes Miles over until he’s on his elbows and knees. There’s the slick sound of something behind him, and then the Groom is pressing into Miles, the sear of it barely even registering to this new body.

Sweaty hand gripping at Miles’ nape, the Groom settles into him, his cock stretching Miles so perfectly that he wonders if maybe he _had_ been made just for it, and he shuffles back just a little on his knees, forcing it deeper.

The Groom grunts, fingers tightening around the back of Miles’ neck, and the first thrust of his cock is merciless, jarring Miles from the lift of his elbows so that his chest, face, and arms are pressed instead to blood-soaked woodgrain.

“You’re filthy,” he says, tips of his fingers bruising in their intensity. “Laying yourself out like this for me.”

“Maybe,” says Miles, rolling his hips back. “Why don’t you stop, if you think I’m so wrong for it?”

The Groom chuckles, dark and pleased. He removes his hand from Miles’ neck, wraps it around the sharp bone of his hip instead, and pulls him back forcefully enough that Miles lets out a shocked moan. “I’ve got to take care of my beloved, especially if she’s filthy. I’ve got to fix you.”

“I don’t think you’ll find that as easy as you’re hoping for.”

“Love is a challenge,” the Groom singsongs.

Miles rolls his eyes, spreading his legs wider to keep himself braced. He feels the faint prick of splinters in his knees but then the Groom is pulling him up, one strong arm locked tight around his chest, holding him still as he fucks Miles deeper.

The steady control of his hips is maddening. It isn’t fast enough or hard enough, it isn’t enough of _anything_ except the thick pressure holding him open, just a tease that has Miles writhing. There’s a low sound filling the room, and it takes him several moments to realize that it’s himself, choked-off whines as he tries to get more of anything. But the Groom just holds hard to his hip with the other hand, forcing him still so that he can take only what the Groom is willing to give him.

If Miles wanted to, he could break that arm. He could reach back and snap his wrist, except that he has a feeling that would end things, and he’s too frantic now, too needy for the way the Groom fills him up so well, fat and hot inside of him.

“Please,” he begs. His hand settles against the one on his hip, clutching it tightly. “Please, I need more.”

The Groom chuckles, mouth pressed to the back of Miles neck. He sucks at the skin there, bites down on it and then migrates to his right shoulder, teeth sinking into it too hard. Miles can feel the blood dripping down from the bite and he cries out, overloaded with sensation. “ _Please_ ,” he sobs.

“Will it make you happy?” the Groom asks.

“Yes, _yes_ , I need it.” His knees ache, the curve of his spine is too sharp, and he wants the Groom to make him come, wants him to stop teasing, stop making Miles feel like he doesn’t have the upper hand anymore.

“You need my cock,” the Groom says, fingers rubbing over one of Miles’ nipples. “I knew you needed me to fill you up.” He punctuates each word with calculated, forceful snaps of his hips until Miles is panting, fingers digging into the Groom’s hand.

“ _Yes_.” He feels bruised and shivery and like he’s teetering against the very edge, the nanofield humming dangerously out of his reach. “I need you.”

And really, that’s enough for the Groom to finally give in, his hands clawing on Miles’ hips as he slams into him, hard and unrelenting and just right, more than Miles knows what to do with. He can hear himself moaning distantly, the electric tension in his belly nearly to the breaking point. The Groom bites down on his other shoulder and he’s coming with a pained shout, shooting all over the bloody table and nearly doubling over from the intensity.

Then he’s crying out for a different kind of pain entirely, the crushing feeling of the Walrider ripping itself from inside him. He reaches out desperately for the swarm, in denial as he tries to pull it back in, but there’s just nothing there. His body shivers weakly, the tremors of pain far overwhelming the pleasure.

“Darling,” the Groom murmurs against Miles’ neck. “Don’t get distracted now. We’re not finished yet.” As if to get his attention back on proper matters, he ruts shallowly into Miles, cock hitting spots that make Miles groan in pain as a lingering weak dribble of come forces itself out of him.

“I can’t,” Miles breathes.

“You can.” The Groom’s hands aren’t quite gentle as he guides Miles’ hips into a rhythm, but they’re nowhere near as bruising as they were before. “Don’t you want to make me happy too?”

Miles nods slowly, knowing this is really his only hope to stay alive long enough that the Walrider can inhabit him again. He tilts his hips back, lets the Groom fuck into him until he’s coming sloppily inside.

Exhaustion and the sudden awareness of every injury on his body makes Miles nearly collapse by the end of it, but the Groom just guides him down. His hand brushes the back of Miles’ thigh on the way up to press a finger to his hole, which feels sore and stretched now. He feels a trickle of come spill out and clenches his legs together more tightly, shame turning his face red.

“You stay like this,” the Groom says sweetly. He leans down to nuzzle the side of Miles’ sweaty, burning face, presses a kiss to his cheekbone as his other hand seeks out the shard of metal further down the table. “My lovely bride. We’ll be perfect soon.”


End file.
